What Exactly Did She Tell You?
by Zephyr
Summary: Post-The Two. Jack and Syd discuss Irina. JI-ish.


Note: This is a post-The Two fic.  Since Syd is presently homeless, and probably Jack is as well, I assumed father and daughter would get a place together for the time being.  

            It was nearly four in the morning when Sydney awoke.  She didn't recall a dream, or hearing a noise, but she was now hopelessly wide awake.  So she got up and headed for the kitchen.

            She spied her father there, picking up the phone.  His back was to the hallway and he hadn't heard her coming.  Jack dialed a number, long distance, by the number of light taps she could hear.  He waited, stepping to the side so that Sydney could now see the keypad of the phone.  Her father looked down and began dialing again: 793-7233.  793 struck a chord with her.  Of course, the combination-breaker/cell phone Marshall had made her with the code 793: SYD, to help her remember.  Was it a coincidence?  She went over the last four numbers in her head for possible meanings.  The receiver clacked in the background of her thoughts.

            "Sydney?"

            She forgot the code momentarily.  Her father had turned to see her standing there.

            "What are you doing up?"

            "Couldn't sleep.  You?"

            "Me either.  Plus I remembered a phone call I had to make . . . to your mother."

            Suddenly the numbers clicked in her mind.

            "To tell her I was _safe_."

            "Yeah," he answered gently, "It was part of our deal.  She would have done the same for me."

            Sydney nodded, mulling over the new information.  Slowly she took a seat at the dining table.  Jack exited the kitchen and stood by one of the empty chairs.

"Dad, tell me how it was, when you went to Mom for help."

Jack inhaled deeply.  The look in his eyes told her he had anticipated this question, though whether he welcomed it or dreaded it she could not tell.  He sat down, folded his hands on the table and met her curious gaze.

            "What do you want to know?"

            "Everything.  How did you contact her?  What help did she give?" she asked, "How did she seem?"

            "She was grief-stricken," Jack answered abruptly.  He paused then, the memory of his wife's grief as well as his own was still too potent.

            "For a while she refused to believe it, insisting it didn't fit with Rambaldi prophecy," Jack shrugged, "Still we worked together, she searching for you and I for those responsible.  In time, however, with no leads to support her belief, her denial gave way to grief.  And then we – she turned her grief into determination, as I had, and we both focused on finding your murderers.  She accessed virtually every contact she ever had, no matter how untrustworthy, no matter how great the likelihood that they might betray her to her enemies.

            "You should have seen her face when I showed her the footage that proved you were alive after all . . . She loves you Sydney.  I have no doubt of that."  

            "What about you?"

            Jack raised his eyebrows and Sydney quickly broke back in to clarify herself.

            "I mean," Sydney hesitated, not sure she should have begun the question, "Does she love you?  Do you think?"

            His face went stiff and Sydney looked down at her hands regretfully.

            "No, of course not," he answered quiet, but briskly, "I was an assignment –"

            Sydney's eyes widened, stopping her father mid-sentence.   _No, of course not_, rang in her ears.

            "What?" he asked.

            "You're lying to me."

            "Excuse me?"

            "That's how you answer me when you're lying – Santa Clause, Rusik – 'no, of course not.'"

            Jack sat there with his mouth ajar, trying to think what to say.

            "Sydney, I honestly don't believe your mother loves me," he said in a bewildered voice, "She doesn't have to love me in order to love you."

            "Yes, I know," Sydney said, feeling like she was six again and her parents had just divorced instead of all that really happened

"Maybe you don't believe she loves you," she continued forcefully, "but you're holding something back."

            Her father's brow creased and he absent-mindedly leaned back into his chair.

            "You still love her, don't you," she told him, rather than asked.

            Jack leaned forward then, looking earnestly into his daughter's face.

            "I love a memory that I have struggled with every day of my life for thirty years to separate from who your mother truly is."

            "So when she does things to make you suspect she might love you back, you dismiss it as wishful thinking," she concluded unfazed.

            "Sydney – " he protested.

            "She told me she loves you," Sydney blurted out.  That silenced him.

            "Two years ago when she came to me at the ice rink about the warehouse.  I didn't believe her at the time, but now – "

            "Sydney, stop it!" he roared suddenly.

            She flinched as he rose abruptly from his chair and stormed out of the room.

            There was a light tapping at Jack's bedroom door.  Sydney had tried sleeping, but guilt overwhelmed her.  She finally went to his room at seven o'clock, standing outside the door for endless minutes before finally knocking.  She heard a muffled rustle from inside.

            "Come in," he said.  He sounded tired, no longer angry.

            She opened the door, taking no more than a step inside.

            "Dad, I am so sorry about before."

            He looked up, rather pitifully, from where he sat on the side of his bed, reminding her of how he was just after they found out her mother was alive.

            "I never should have brought it up.  It was my own wishful thinking talking."

            He looked down at the floor and she continued before he could reply.

            "Everything's upside down for me right now, and I guess I was trying to draw something stable, something normal, out of the _mess_ my life is in.  Something normal like having parents who can trust and love each other.  But I was being childish.  It's enough to know that you love me and are here for me.  That's all the stability I need.  I'm_ so _sorry if I hurt you."

            He looked up and smiled lightly.

            "It's okay, sweetheart," he said, the smile fading away, "It wasn't you."

            She went to sit beside him on the bed as he spoke.

            "What do you say we go out and get some breakfast?" he asked.

            "Sounds good," she answered with a relieved smile.

"Just give me a minute and I'll be right out."

            "Okay," she said, getting up and heading for the door.

            "Sydney?" 

            She turned around.

            "Yeah, Dad?"

            "What exactly did she tell you . . . at the rink?"

            Sydney kept her smile reserved, though inside she was beaming.

            "I'll tell you about it over breakfast," she told him, "And you can tell me more about the investigation with Mom."

He nodded and she left.

            Jack remained still a moment, exhausted from the lack of sleep, but more from the morning's events.  He reached out his left hand to his bedstand.  He let his fingers rest meditatively over the drawer before finally pulling himself up to join his daughter.  

The photograph within in the drawer waited patiently for their return.


End file.
